The Low Road
by SailingAwaySoftly
Summary: Rue and Oliver have completed their final year at Hogwarts, and it's date night in Scotland before Rue departs. After dinner at Stewart's, they find themselves alone at the Wood household, and that can only lead to one thing. Pure smut. BiF companion.


**Warning: If you are uncomfortable with smut, **_**do not**_** read the last page break.

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I fell rather unceremoniously out of the Wood's fireplace. I hated flooing, but my parents hadn't thought it wise to apparate somewhere I'd never been. This was the first time in the past year and a half that they had allowed me to visit my boyfriend's house, and my mother said it was only because I had graduated Hogwarts that I was allowed to go this time.

I looked up to see Oliver smiling down at me, his hand outstretched. I reached for it, and he pulled me to my feet. I quickly adjusted my clothing and dusted myself off. I looked up at Oliver when I was finished, a crooked smile on his lips.

"What?" I asked.

He laughed, "Come here."

I stepped closer to him and he brushed at my cheek with his hand.

"Better?" I asked.

"Not exactly," he said. He licked the pad of his thumb and ran it across my cheek. I scrunched my face and let out a groan.

"That was disgusting!"

He let out a bark of laughter, gave me a quick peck on the lips, and grabbed my hand. "C'mon, my parents would like to see you before we go."

* * *

"Hello Mr and Mrs Wood," I said brightly as we entered the kitchen.

"Wonderful to see you, dear," Mrs Wood smiled as she came up to me, holding me at arms length. "You're more beautiful than when I last saw you!" she exclaimed.

I felt heat rising in my cheeks. "Thank you," I managed weakly. For some reason, I always felt incredibly humbled around Oliver's parents.

Mr Wood stood from his seat, crossing the short distance between us. He crushed me to his side with one arm. "Great to see you, Rue," he boomed.

"You, too," I managed, looking at Oliver desperately.

"Er, Dad, what time will you and Mum be home tonight?" Mr Wood released me, and I took two steps away from him.

His father raised his eyebrows, a mischievous smile on his face, and glanced at his wife. "Oh, late probably. Way past midnight."

"I expect you'll be home by then," Mrs Wood said, giving Oliver a harsh look.

"'Course," he said.

"Where are you taking her, anyway?" Mr Wood had once again taken a seat.

"Yeah," I said slyly, looking up at him. "Where _are_ you taking me?"

Oliver smiled gently down at me before turning his attention to his father, "Stewart's."

"Got a reservation?"

"Aye, which is why Rue and I should leave," he said, gesturing towards the door.

"Alright, you two enjoy yourselves," Mrs Wood called after us as I followed Oliver from the room and out the front door.

As soon as we'd walked down the path and came to the main road, he reached out for my hand. I looked down at it before slipping my hand into his own, interlacing our fingers. I sighed contentedly.

"Have you heard from Puddlemere United at all?"

"No, not yet. I should by the end of the week, I think."

I nodded.

"And you?"

"Oh, my uncle is coming to gather me next Thursday," I said quietly, not wanting to talk about the particulars of my departure.

He gently squeezed my hand and gave me a reassuring look.

"So, tell me about this Stewart's you're taking me to," I said, shifting our conversation to a much more pleasant topic.

A large smile spread across his face, "You're going to love it."

* * *

The restaurant itself was full of wizards and witches donning tartan robes. I couldn't help but to laugh at how stereotypical the scene was. But the atmosphere was charming, with a live band energetically playing in the centre of the floor.

We were led to our seat near the back of the restaurant, next to a window that was pushed open. A candle sat alight in the middle of the table. I smiled at Oliver as we took our seats and ordered drinks.

"It's so odd to think we aren't going to be going back to Hogwarts," I said, poking at the hot, small loaf of bread that had been placed in front of us.

Oliver picked up the knife we'd been given and brushed my hand away before he began slicing it. "I can't believe it," he said, spreading some butter over a piece of bread he'd set on his plate.

I followed suit and had just taken a bite of the bread when Oliver leaned across the table, a mad glint in his eye. I knew that look.

"Remember my last Quidditch match against Slytherin?"

I rolled my eyes, "No, I clearly wasn't there or anything. So why not regale me with this tale I've _never_ heard before?"

He smiled, before delving into his version of how Oliver Wood and his brilliant Gryffindor Quidditch team had claimed victory over Slytherin House for the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup. He was humble about his own skills, though, pointing out that he'd taken two bludgers to the stomach. It was really all his chasers and Harry, the boy wonder, who did all the work, or so he claimed. But I knew that he'd worked the team harder than they ever had before, just so he'd have a chance at the Cup.

"You know, if we hadn't won against you, we wouldn't have had a shot at winning."

"Well, thank you for making me feel like an inadequate Quidditch captain. Nice way to treat your girlfriend," I nibbled on the bread, waiting for our entrées to arrive.

"Oh, no, I didn't mean that," he said, trying to gather himself, "I just meant that Chang was rubbish, always getting injured and all that," he finished slowly.

I looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"She's a great seeker, though," he offered lamely, turning to look at the band to avoid eye contact.

"But she's rubbish," I said.

"Right."

"You know I picked her to be on the team, right?"

"Yeah."

I waited for his mind to make the connection I was trying to lead it to. It wasn't until our dinner plates were placed in front of us that realisation finally dawned on his face.

"I didn't mean that you were a bad captain. You were a great captain! It's just that Chang was not the best choice. Er, I mean, she wouldn't have been _my_ first pick, but if she _was_ the best one for the job, and-"

I cleared my throat.

"Sorry," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

I laughed, "I was only teasing you. And maybe I secretly didn't want to win the Cup."

He looked at me, surprised, "You didn't?"

"Bloody hell, Wood. Of course, I did," I laughed.

Our conversation continued, meandering its way through the music that was being played to creating a detailed story of what his parents' evening was possibly shaping up to be. Spinning a story about his parents eventually turned into a story about the people dining around us, each idea getting more and more ridiculous as the night wore on. We finally gave up on our storytelling, though, when a particularly large fellow and his trophy wife, we assumed, sat down three tables away. We were reduced to sputters of laughter.

After some time, Oliver began discussing the rest of his summer.

"I still can't believe my parents managed to get tickets to the Cup," he said as he dug into the potatoes on his plate.

I smiled, already having finished my dinner, and took a sip from the beer bottle in front of me. "I'm really quite jealous. You better tell me every detail."

A member of the band announced they were going to play one last song before leaving.

"Oh, I will, don't you worry." He paused, staring down at his plate and pushing some vegetables to the side. "I wish you were going," he said softly. Had I not been paying attention, I wouldn't have been able to hear him over the music that had started back up.

I felt a sting at the back of my throat and turned to look outside. I pursed my lips, knowing that of all the people I cared about, it was going to be the hardest to have to leave Oliver.

Our plates were cleared, and Oliver ordered a dessert.

"Where, in purple hue, the highland hills we view, and the moon coming out in the gloaming," the band sang, playing soft chords on their instruments.

I finally slid my gaze over to meet his, and he offered me a gentle smile as he rummaged for something in his pocket.

"I wanted to give you something," Oliver said softly, leaning across the table.

"What?" I asked, my brows furrowed.

He held out a small box. "Take it."

So I hesitantly reached out and took it. I regarded him suspiciously for a moment.

"Open it," he encouraged, the smile never falling from his face.

"Alright," I said slowly before untying the ribbon and opening the box with a soft click. My eyes widened as I pulled out the slim silver band. It had a small garnet set in it, flanked by two smaller sapphires. I looked at Oliver.

"It's just a little something so you don't forget me when you're over there with all those Americans," he said shyly. "There's an inscription."

I held the ring closer to the light of the candle so that I could read the shimmering script. A smile grew on my face as I raised my gaze to meet Oliver's.

"It's beautiful. How did you-"

"Mum thought it would be a good gift. I've been saving up for a while," he shrugged.

I slipped it onto my finger and admired it before holding up my hand to show Oliver. He nodded approvingly.

"Thank you," I said softly as small plates were placed in front of us.

* * *

We left Stewart's, my spirits having been immensely lifted during dessert. Oliver's arm was around my shoulder and mine around his waist, and we slowly walked back to his house.

"Remember that time," I managed between laughs, "when I forked the Quidditch pitch before one of your practices?"

He laughed, too. "I was _furious_. We spent most of the practice removing forks from the ground because Hooch had seen, and then we had detention..."

"It was a good laugh," I said as he pulled me closer to his side. I nearly stepped on his foot.

"Where did you get so many forks, anyway?"

"House elves. They loved me," I smirked.

He shook his head, "Should've known."

* * *

Some time later, after having returned to his house, we lay on Oliver's bed, completely wrapped up in one another. I was settled comfortably against his pillows. My hands were preoccupied with his hair and neck as we snogged.

After a while, I decided I needed air and needed to know where this might be headed.

I smiled against his lips and pulled a breath away. "Your parents aren't home yet, are they?"

"No," he murmured after glancing at his watch. He decided to take advantage of my parted lips as he leaned in to kiss me again.

He busied himself as his tongue explored my mouth. I slid one hand down, pulling at the hem of the shirt he wore. Merlin, how desperately I wanted to pull it off of him.

I suppose he sensed my urgency, or he realised why I wondered whether his parents were home, and he pulled away.

He fixed me with a look.

"Yes?" I breathed indignantly, upset that we weren't otherwise engaged.

"Rue, I don't think-"

"It's been _ages_ since we last did anything. Please?"

He raised his eyebrows in response.

"For Merlin's sake, your parents aren't even home."

Oliver studied me before rolling over onto his back.

I groaned in frustration and sat upright, staring at his closed bedroom door. I grabbed my wand from the bedside table and muttered two quick spells to silence the room and lock the door. I placed it back on the table and then turned to straddle his hips.

"There," I said smugly. "If they _do_ return anytime soon, which is rather unlikely, they won't hear a thing, nor will they be able to get in."

"That's not what I was worried about," he said, his eyes gleaming.

I leaned down over him, my auburn hair falling like a curtain around our faces.

"What, exactly, is the problem then, Wood?"

His hands slid up my thighs and settled on my hips. He gently played with the fabric of my blouse as he looked up at me.

My mouth twitched as I tried to hide a smile, knowing I had already won.

"You're awful," he said finally. I pressed my mouth to his. A warm hand traveled under my blouse and upwards.

Things quickly escalated as we desperately removed one another's clothing, our bodies relishing at the heat of the other's. We lay there, hands exploring every bit of skin that we were capable of reaching.

His lips moved down my neck, and my fingers grasped at his hair when he hit a particularly sensitive spot.

"Rue?" he breathed against my neck.

I simply nodded in response.

It felt as though it had been forever when he finally positioned himself above me. I let out a gasp, and we began down the slippery slope.

There was nothing but his lips occasionally pressing against my neck. My arms wrapped tightly around his torso, fingertips pressing into his shoulders, as I desperately tried to close all space between us.

Short gasps, hushed moans.

And then absolute pleasure wrapped itself around us, drawing a long groan and a soft cry.

Oliver carefully pulled himself away, collapsing on the bed beside me. He let out a long sigh and closed his eyes. I stared up at the ceiling, relishing in the aftermath.

I felt an arm around me, and I turned slightly, allowing Oliver to pull me against him. I rested my head against his collar.

"Rue," he said softly. How I loved when he said my name. I gently brushed the tip of my nose against his throat.

"I," he paused, his arm squeezing around my waist. "I love you," he said softly, his voice strained.

"I love you, too," I breathed. I could feel the tears stinging my eyes, threatening to fall. How could I possibly leave him?

As much as I wanted this job, I didn't know if it was worth it to leave England, my family, my mates, and the most insufferable bloke who just so happened to love me behind. It had been something I struggled with since I had received my uncle's letter during exams week. Oliver encouraged me to pursue my dreams, but I knew it hurt him quite a bit more than he dared let on. Klaus had cornered me after a family dinner only two nights prior to inform me how much he would miss me, and that he was positive Oliver was feeling ten times worse.

I sniffed, unable to hold back the tears any longer. They slid down my cheeks and a few fell onto Oliver's chest. I squeezed my arm around his shoulder, burying my face against his neck.

He pulled me closer and pressed his lips against the top of my head. He softly started to hum "Loch Lomond" while running his fingers tenderly through my hair. My tears dried, and I fell asleep as the soft rumble of his voice in his chest faded.

**

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Well, there's the third and final one-shot before the sequel! I hope you all enjoyed it, and it would mean the world to me **_**if you chose to leave a lovely review. **_**As you know, that which you recognize from the the wonderful world of Harry Potter belongs to Jo Rowling, and that which you do not belongs to me. I'll have the sequel up in the next few days. Yours.**


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